


to hand you this hour

by saekhwa



Series: these small hours still remain [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Mick, Cinnamon Roll Ray, M/M, Post-Season/Series 01, Queer Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/saekhwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray was never going to leave Mick behind again, and it was nice to know that Mick wouldn't leave him behind either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to hand you this hour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Poetry Fiction's July prompts challenge](http://poetry-fiction-challenge.tumblr.com/tagged/july-mini-prompts).

_"I embrace you_  
_without knowing you: tell me who you are, do you recognize_  
_my voice in the chorus of all that's being born?"_  
— Pablo Neruda

Ray spotted Mick crouched on the ground, hunched over. He grinned, hurrying forward only to slow when he smelled smoke. As he drew closer, swallowing against the lump forming in his throat, Mick still hadn't moved away from the small fire in front of him. Ray reached out, about to grasp Mick's shoulder, but then Mick shifted, startling him into freezing. 

"Don't worry, Haircut. Not turning into the bad guy." Mick paused, head half turned to glance at Ray. "Again."

Ray chuckled at Mick's dry sense of humor. "I didn't think you were," he said, but winced, because that hadn't been entirely true. "Well." He dropped his hand and took another step closer. "I was hoping you weren't turning evil or plotting to betray us. But since you're obviously not doing anything like that, what _are_ you doing?"

Mick didn't say a word. He poked the fire, but it continued to dwindle without any kindling. Ray almost moved forward but then caught himself just in time. Nurturing a fire for a—former?—pyromaniac was probably a bad idea. 

When the last of the flames flickered and then burned out to embers, Mick finally said, "Thought I'd miss it more."

Ray lowered himself to his knees, dusting off his hands, about to wrap an arm around Mick, but something about Mick's body language made him second-guess himself. Mick hadn't turned away or even shifted, but he hadn't looked at Ray either, brows furrowed as he stared hard at the pile of thin, half-burned sticks. So Ray shifted, inching his way closer until his shoulder pressed against Mick's. 

"Used to be everything," Mick said, words even softer than before, like maybe he hadn't meant to share that with Ray. And maybe he hadn't. 

They never talked about Mick's time as Chronos. They didn't…talk about much, really. Mostly Ray talked until Mick glowered and told him to shut up. All affectionate, of course, in Mick's own gruff way. As long as Mick called him "haircut," Ray knew he hadn't pushed too far. 

Mick didn't say anything more. He remained crouched until even the embers died. Then he tossed his stick atop the pile and stood. Ray moved to follow suit and barely stopped himself from toppling over. 

"I'll, uh, be right there," he said, waving for Mick to go on without him. 

Mick stared at Ray and then shook his head. "Legs fell asleep, didn't they." Less of a question and more of an astute observation as he hauled Ray to his feet, which hurt more than Oliver's training. "You gotta walk it off."

Ray grinned as he held onto Mick's shoulders, thinking how—not too long ago in theory, because time travel just complicated his sense of time—Mick would've left him here, recovering from the pinprick sensation of the blood returning to his legs all alone. 

And there it was. That glower that made Ray's smile soften. "Don't say i—"

"You could've left me here, but you didn't," Ray said anyway, and wrapped his arms around Mick, letting Mick support more of his weight, even though it didn't stop the painful fire ants feeling that crawled up his legs. "Glare all you want, Mick. I just want to let you know…" When Mick looked away, Ray ducked his head to make eye contact again. "You've got a new everything, _and_ "—He curled a hand around Mick's shoulder, stroking the burn scars at Mick's neck with his thumb. Mick looked away again, but Ray had learned to pay attention to the other things, the smaller things, like the way Mick shifted his weight just enough to lean into Ray's touch—"this one's not going to hurt you. Or at least, he—meaning me, Ray Palmer—."

"Haven't forgotten your name, Haircut," Mick muttered. 

"—is going to try his hardest not to."

Mick scanned the area, probably for any witnesses. Ray didn't mind. He was pretty sure everyone on the ship knew about him and Mick anyway, even if he wasn't sure himself some days. 

Mick looking away gave Ray the perfect chance to lean closer. "I'm gonna kiss your cheek," he announced, and then brushed a quick one to Mick's skin. 

Once he felt steady on his own two feet, he slipped his hand in Mick's, grinning when Mick absently stroked his thumb as they walked toward the Waverider together.


End file.
